THE FLIGHT OF THE LIBERTY.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXI, Issue 103, 2 May 1900, Page 3

THE FLIGHT OF THE LIBERTY.

Herbert Bates.)

A STORY OP PASSAMAQUODDY BAY.

It was a bright August morning in

the year 17S0. Under the dark cliffs of Moose Island, the Eastport of today, Jay a barge, almost hidden by the jutting rocks. She was a large boat, built for sixteen rowers, altogether disproportioned to the little crew of four that now occupied her weather-beaten thwarts—a man and three boys, whose combined strength could hardly jn'opel her against the gentlest of Fundy tides. But her small mast, around which was lashed :i huge discoloured spritsail, showed that they did not rely upon their own strength. And the stealthy look of the little vessel, lurking- in the shadow of the overhang-ing' rock, the attitude of her little crew, crouching low behind her bulwarks, and still more, the muskets that lay beside them in readiness,—all these signs might well have made an observer suspicious of her peaceable intention.

it was as well that she was not not visible to the watchful glasses on board His Majesty's sloop of war Blenheim, which lay opposite, over a mjle away, under the rocky headlands of Harbour de Lute. It was especially fortunate that none of His Majesty's officers could see th e face of the man who, glass in hand, was scanning the river to the north. He was a man noticeable at the first glance for his resolute manner, and fox' the alertness and vigour of his bearing-. His eyes were quick and bright under his heavy brows, and his close-shaven face showed the firm lines of the face of one accustomed to command.

One needed but to glance at the three boys who crouched beside him barefooted, in the rough homespun if the colonists —to see in their faces a resemblance that showed them, not only his sons, but sons worthy of him in energy and intelligence.

Yet it was as well that he and his sons should remain unseen by the officers of the Blenheim, for his brilliant courage had made his face only too familiar to them, and had made his capture the one aim of their ambition. For this was no other than the noted Colonel Allan, the man who, almost by his Unaided genius, had so far kept the country east of the Penob.scot out of the power of His Majesty's Government.

In spite of his military title, his command was of the most informal kind By commission from the Provincial Congress, the Massachusetts Colony, and, later, from the United States, he commanded the post at Machias, and had, by his skilful management, kept the fickle Indians faithful to the side of the colonists.

His history was romantic. The son of an English officer resident in Nova Scotia, he had been forced, on account of his sympathy with the Americans in their rebellion, to leave his home by night and flee in an open boat across the stormy Bay of Fundy to find shelter among his new friends, whose friendship had cost him so dear. And none could say that this shelter had not been well repaid, for in him ■ they had found the leader that was needed, a leader whose devotion to the cause of freedom was but strengthened by his indignation at the injustice that he had suffered from the English.

His wife,whom in his perilous flight, he I'atl had to leave to the mercy ,of his enemies, had found no mercy. Her home burned to the ground, she wasdv'vtn out, in midwinter, into t!:e fields, and later suffered the most brutal insults i:i an English prison, while Allan'!;' sons had reached their fatl;°r only after years of imprisonment. No wonder, then, that the remebrance of this made John Allan bitter against the British, and no wonder that his sons, remembering- their mother's sufferings and their own, were ready to aid him in every undertaking1 against their enemy. These undertakings had been many. It was not only by rare tact and policy that Colonel Allan had held the Indians to the side of the colonists^ True, with these means he had done wonders. In spite of the .bribes and promises of the British he had kept the restless tribes of the frontier— Micmacs, Quoddies and others—in at least a semblance'of content. He had led them to see in him the spokesman of George Washington, the Great Father, who would some day repay them many fold for their services. But to hold them to belief and helpful friendship more than words were needed. He must appeal for success to their admiration.

He must always keep before them some evidence of activity, some picturesque achievement. Sudden incursions into British lumber camps, bold attacks on isolated boats detached from British frigates, venturesome raids into the very heart of loyal provinces—such deeds won for him the respect of the Indians, for in them they saw displayed a craft and a courage that would have done even them credit.

Indeed Colonel Allan was in woodcraft almost an Indian himself. He knew every stream, every portage, every inlet in the intricate Pa.ssn.inaquodtly coast. ■He could paddle a canoe as skilfully as the best Micmac, con Id tramp the forest all day unwearied, following- a trail that would be invisible to untrained eyes, and could speak the language of every tribe along the shores of Fundy. It would be hard to imagine a man better fitted for the peculiar work that he was called upon to undertake. Certainly no man could have accomplished more. Without money, with few weapons, with little help from the colonies, busied in their own defence, he had so far —merely by his promises and by the spell of his personal influence —kept the eastern Indians from joining forces .with GreM Britain. And just now, when the Immediate influence of Burgoyne's surrender was passing away, when the news from the southern battlefields came slowly, he felt that it was time for him—if lie would keep the Indians encouraged— to strike another blow. No ordinary success would suffice. To impress the Indian nature there was needed some dramatic vividness, some startling novelty, some such clever feat of daring as those in which they themselves excelled.

It was the opportunity of such a feat that now offered itself. Already, as lie and the three boys peered forward cautiously around the point of rock that concealed them, they could see emerging from behind the distant promontory at the northern head of the island a clumsy raft of lumber, moving sluggishly wifcb. the -wind and

tide, impelled by a great square sail of dingy canvas. A dozen men lay sprawling about the deck, basking in the August sunlight, while another stood at the stern, steering with a long oar. A few empty boats drag-g-ed behind. On either side, in marked contrast to the disorderly crew, there rowed two barges of bluejackets and marines, evidently a,n escort to ward off such attacks as that which Colonel Allan was apparently meditating.

It was a raft of lumber for New York, where indeed it was much needed. It was to protect it that the sloop of war had been sent convoying the little schooner that lay humbly beside her warlike companion, waiting for her load. It was not the first time that the English had tried to carry lumber from the Bay of Passamaquoddy. Previous attempts had taught them to respect Colonel Allan and neglect no precaution.

Now. however, the men guarding the raft felt thoroughly at ease. They had passed the narrower part of the river, and were now in sight of their own vessel. There remained nothing but to transfer the lumber to the schooner and bear away to New York. Certainly there was no need to anticipate trouble from Allan here, in sight of the redoubtable banner of the. English navy.

Apparently the boys by Allan's side were struck by some such thought, for they looked anxiously at their father. At last John, the eldest, ventured a question.

"We shall have to give it up, shan't we,, father?" he asked, doubtingly.

His father laughed. "Wait a little," he said. "Remember those fellows are at least as sure that there's no danger as you are. And, remember, too, that they're anxious to get back to the brig and have a long talk with their friends. Of course they may stay with the raft, but if they do, I shall flunk that Johnny' Bull is learning wisdom. No, boys, we won't give up yet."

Indeed, even as he spoke, there was going on, between the raft and the boats, a conversation that boded well for his designs.

"Good-bye, Pierre," the young officer in charge of the boats was saying. "We can't wait for your slow craft any longer. We've brought you so far, and the rest of the way we'll let you shift for yourselves. Don't let Allan catch you! You ought to be able to take care of yourselves for the next mile or two."

His companion, an older man, evidently, however, of lower rank, touched him timidly hy the arm. "Excuse me, lieutenant," he said, "but don't you think it would be a little safer to follow our orders out literally and stay with them till we reach the frigate? If anything should happen, you know, the commander gave especial instructions."

The young officer hesitated a moment, then laughed.

"Don't be. fussy, Hawkins," he said. "One would ,thinl< you believed the silly stories of the men, that Allan is in league with the devil. If he isn't, you can see as well as I that there's no possible danger*from him. He'll never dare fight in the open, much less under the guns of his majesty's man-of-war. I'll take all the responsibility. You can see that the. men are wild to get back after their week up river!

"See here, my boys," he went on in a louder tone, addressing the men, "'here's a shilling apiece to the crew of the boat that first reaches the Blenheim. Give way!"

Oil" they dashed, their oars tearing the green water, toward the distant vessel, whose bulwarks w vere already lined with the faces of their expectant companions. So great was their excitement in the race, so close was the interest with which those on the Blenheim watched their approach, that no one noticed the dull sail that, had come dancing out from under the sombre cliffs of Moose Island. And had they noticed it, they would probably have paid it, but little attention, for they would have seen only a fisherman's boat, with one man at the helm and a heap of nets in the bow. They could not have seen—unless they were singularly sharp-eyed—the. three boys w!ho lay close under the windward gunwale, watching their father's face excitedly, nor could they have detected, under that heap of soiled canvas, a little swivel which, once before at Machias, they had heard speak with no uncertain voice.

"Lie low, boys,'' Allan was saying. Don't let your heads show over the gunwale. John, help Mark and Will load the muskets, and be sure to see to the priming. And all of you crawl up a little farther to windward. It's breezing up in the channel. Be quick about the loading, for we shall need the guns soon. She's walking fast/ Walking she was, heeling far to starboard as she went, and leaving d hissing wake behind her, her big spritsail swelling out finely to the north wind that now swept in black gusts clown the river. She was making almost straight for the raft, yet aiming a .little above. Evidently Allan was planning to put it between her and the guns of the Blenheim. Far off close under the side of the sloop of war, one could see the two boats, arid could hear the hearty shout that welcomed the victors in the race.

Allan smiled. "They'll be too tired to give us a hard chase," he said. "But we'll have no time to spare at best. Get ready, boys! John, have your match ready, and when I give the word, snatch the canvas oft" the swivel, and give them a ball. Try not to hit them —they're Frenchmen and halfbreeds! for some may be on our side. I don't think there'll be any fight, in them. If one shot doesn't do the work, give them the pistols and mmskets, and keep at them with the swivel till they run. We can't stop to fight. The first shot will set the whole hornet's nest after* us."

The boys prepared in silence, while the. Liberty dashed on toward the raft. Already they could see the swarthy fa%es of the French and Indian Grew, who were now watching'themwithidle interest. Then suddenly Allan raised /his hand. "All ready, boys!" he shouted. "Let them have it!"

In an instant the lads had sprung to their feet, the tarpaulin was stripped from the cannon, the priming flashed, and the whole boat shook with the recoil.

As soon as the yellow smoke drifted from their bows, they saw that the raft had become the scene of the wildest excitement. The men on the dcek had sprung to their feet, the man at the oar had dropped it and all ha*d run to where their boats were secured. A few more bullets from the muskets, chipping the planks behind them, added to their panic. Into their boats they tumbled, crazj- with fright, and went splashing and paddling off in ludicrous confusion toward the Blenheim, keeping, as Allan had probably foreseen, exactly in the line of fixe,

so that it would "be impossible for the British to fire upon the raft without the. risk of hitting them.

"TaJefc your hatchets!" shoutted Allan. "Ready to board, boys! Don't leave a lashing- whole. Send every stick adrift. And don't waste time, for they're after us already!"

Indeed, a glance toward the Blenheim had shown him that the tr.vo boats had already turned and were rapidly nearing. But even as he spoke the bow of the Liberty darted alongside of the abandoned raft, and the boys leaped out, hatchets in hand. It was but short work to sever the lashings, and almost beffore the spectators" could have realised what was going- on. the raft was drifting, in scattered planks, down the turbulent tide rips of the St. Croix Eiver, while the little Liberty, with a fair wind, was tearing off toward the shelter of the southern cliffs of Moose Island, the striped banner of the colonists flicker. ing defiance from her dipping masthead.

But they had been none too quick, for by this time the two boats from the Blenheim were drawing close in furious pursuit, dashing between the boats of frightened fugitives. Fortunately they, too, came directly in th(line of fire, so that there was nothing to fear from the cannon of the man-of-war.

"Trim her well, boys!" cried Colonel Allan. It's lucky the wind is strong, or you might get another chance to try Halifax prison fare. But they'll push us hard. The king's men are not always quick.witted, but they can row like the very mischief."

Certainly they seemed to be doingit. The oars struck the water iii flashing cadence, and the spray leaped in cloudy puffs from the flying bows. No fear that the crew of* the Blenheim; would not do their best. The chance of capturing Allan—and they all recognised his handiwork —was not one lightly to be lost. They thought of the rewards offered, and each boat strove to be the first at the finish. Which would have the honour ancr the rewards certain to come to whoever should take the Yankee leader?

It was hard to foresee the outcome of such a race. On one side were the ranks of sturdy seamen, plying every nerve to drive their boats through the hissing water; on tht» other the skilled skipper, making the utmost of a breeze that flecked the dark water with leaping whitecaps. The boys clung to the windward gunwale, while Allan, braced firmly, with iron muscles, held the veering bow true to the course.

Arid yet, for all the wind, the pursuing boats were gaining. The Liberty, deeply ballasted with rock, sailed heavily. Indeed, the prospect of final escape seemed doubtful. To hold their course could lead them only to the abrupt southern shores .of Moose Island, where the rocks rose abruptly above deep water.

Yet it was to the southern extremity of this cliff that Colonel Allan steered. Beyond it lay open water, where there was a dim possibility that he might tire out his pursuers if the wind —which already had begun to weaken —held strong. VP«is This his purpose? Certainly it looked so, and the pursuing boats, pressed on hopefully.

Slowly but surely they gained. Onty a few hundred yards, separated pursuers- from pursued. Already a marine had risen in the bow of the foremost boat and sightad his musket. Allan saw him.

"-Lie down, boys!" he shouted. Down they dropped, jus;, as a bullet snicked spitefully through the taut canvas. Another and another followed, one chipping- a long- splinter from the weather gunwale. Yet Colonel Allan sat upright, and. still he held the. boat straight toward the southern promontory of the island, a promontory 'whose keen edge jutted out knifelike into the bay, crested with fir and spruce.

Against its foot the waves leaped viciously. Beyond one could eaten a glimpse of .windless water. For a sailboat, pursued by oars, to enter such a lee seemed the height of madness. The boys looked anxiously at their father, whose set f-ce gave no hint of his purpose.

The cliff loomed overhead. Already they heard from behind the exultant shout of their pursuers. But Colonel Allan showed no dismay. Leaning suddenly forward, he pushed the tiller hard to port and hauled the sheet home. The boat, swerving sharply, turned the abrupt corner of the cliff, and shot —under its own momentum—into the glassy water beyond, out of sight of the British bo<ats.

j.n an instant Colonel Allan was on his feet and sprang forward, snatching out the wooden plug that passed through the bottom of the boat. The water poured in' in a flood.

"Overboard with you, boys!" he shouted. • "Swim for the shore. We must make the woods before they see us. Don't stop till you make the top of the hill. Jump!"

Jump they did, and Allan, pausing only to make the sail fast, followed. The boat was now close under the shore, and it was but the work of a moment to splash to the beach and dash into the evergreen thickets beyond and tip the steep hillside. There, burrowing deep into the dense underbrush, they peered out cautiously to see the fate of the abandoned Liberty.

They had no reed for anxiety. Heavily ballasted with rock and weighted besides with the heavy swivel, the little vessel had filled almost instantly, and had sunk like a stone into the deep water. Even the ripple that she made in sinking- had vanished from the surface before the first boat of the pursuers rounded the point. The little cove lay as placid as if never disturbed by keel. The second boat came up and lay beside the first, while their crews, resting breathless and exhausted upon their oars, gazed about them in blank bewilderment.

Some pointed to the woods, others at crevices in the cliffs, but neither seemed to offer a satisfactory solution. Some evidently advised landing, but caution prevented that. How could they tell that Allan had not lured them., there on purpose—that those dark and silent woods were not filled with ambushed Indians? Besides, there wn* about the whole thing-—this sudden attack and abrupt disappearance —a mystery that made them uneasy. Allan's exploits were uncanny enough at the best, and the strangeness of this last feat seemed to confirm the worst fears of the superstitious. Many an honest sailor felt at ease only when he had left the black wall of that mysterious cove well behind.

Reluctantly the otucers ordered the

men to give way, and the boats pulled off, firing as they went one last spiteful .shot that went splintering harmlessly through the tree-tops. Then, at last, the chilled adventurer? could emerge into the sunlight and dry their clothes and wait for the re-appearance of the Liberty.

For the Liberty was r. lost. She lay softly on the seaweed bottom in, quiet water. They had only to wait till the tide went down—the tides in Fundy fall over twenty feet—and there she lay, high and dry. All the water had drained out by the hole through which it had run in, and Colonel Allan, who bad carried the plug in his pocket, had but to pub it back, and there p'-e was, seaworthy as ever, ready for new exploits.

The main object of the adventure— the admiration of the Indians, —was more than secured. Lurking along the wooded headlands, their scouts Jiad seen the whole attack and flight, and they bore back to their woodland brothers enthusiastic praises of the daring and cunning of the white chief. But in the ward-ro :n of his majesty's sloop- of-war T'lenleini there were many hard words i itemed. Apparently, Colonel Allan's le. so:i° i-i vigilance had not been apprcciat d. As for the men between decks, they were more than eyer confirmed in their belief that the American leader was in league with the powers of darkness.